


An Itch, a Spark, a Call to Arms

by MadreLoca



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Death References, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 10:55:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadreLoca/pseuds/MadreLoca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peace is the enemy of memory. Murphy was the first to feel it, that their past was no longer a dream. Extension of the opening scene from All Saints Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Itch, a Spark, a Call to Arms

It was a peaceful, chilly August afternoon in northern Ireland. The only sound that could be heard was the crackling of their fire and the scraping of spoons against the metal containers that held their lunch. Conner and Murphy didn't talk much any more; they seemed to have nothing worth talking about. Each others silent company was usually enough to leave them content.

Murphy felt an itch on his right arm. A few days before he'd had to untangle a little lamb from a thorn bush, and he got himself pretty scratched up in the process. The scratches swelled up some and Conner had figured Murphy must be allergic to whatever had gotten into his skin. The swelling went down overnight, but the itch was still persistent.

It had hurt. Not the scratches (those just stung a little, and itched like crazy) The part that hurt was watching something so sweet and innocent being so terrified and fighting for its life. The frightened bleating of that little lamb and the white wool stained in spots with blood was the first thing in a long time that had managed to wrench Murphy's heart. And, as if out of nowhere, the blood-stained white gave him horrible flashbacks to the last blood-stained white that he had seen.

Rocco's white T-shirt. Could it really have been almost eight years?

Murphy pulled up his sleeve to scratch the annoying itch, but his minute wounds quickly left his mind upon noticing something that had been in his skin for years; something that he had never really payed attention too. He focused on the cross on his arm, and the past he shared with his brother suddenly became more than a dream. It was real again for some reason. He could feel something lighting up inside, as if an ember from the dying fire found new life and ignited his soul. He raised his head when he felt Conner's concentrated gaze on him. Their eyes met from across the fire, the smoke and heat making their view seem rippled. It was as if they were looking at the reflections of their own souls through the rippling pool of each others sky-blue eyes. Whatever spark Murphy had now apparently ignited the same in Conner.

Murphy spoke the first and last words that would be spoken out loud in hours. "Do you feel it, Conner?"

Conner gave a silent nod. He did feel it. Whatever it was, he felt it stronger than he had ever felt anything in all of his thirty five years of existence. It wasn't just a spark, it was an all-consuming hellfire that devoured both Conner and Murphy.

Suddenly Murphy felt a new itch, and it was right on his trigger finger. What they both knew that they both felt was more than an itch, more than a spark. This was their mission in life. This was their new call to arms.


End file.
